Does it Trouble You the Way You Trouble Me?
by MarquetteFan33
Summary: Twoshot. Drunk Chell contemplates her time at Aperture, and Wheatley wonders if Chell ever thinks of him.  Minor Chelley.
1. Wheat or Potatoes

Does it Trouble You the Way You Trouble Me?

Part 1: Wheat or Potatoes

Summary: Drunk Chell contemplates her time at Aperture. Minor Chelley.

AN: So, instead of starting on my multichapter story idea, my inspiration hits and out comes _this_. I even contemplated letting it go, not writing it, but it didn't leave me alone, so I suppose I hope you enjoy it. There will be something more substantial coming soon, so yeah. This will be a twoshot, so keep your eyes posted for part 2. Enjoy, and let me know what you thought!

Chell was drunk.

A coworker invited her to a Christmas party, and although she didn't consider herself terribly religious, it would be a further bonding activity with her new companions. She hadn't talked with them too much, as she'd always had the mentality that actions speak louder than words, but she felt eventually she could open up a little more and make a few friends.

She walked into the small ranch home, greeted by the coworker that invited her (talkative, almost too much so, but means well, Chell noted on her first day), and slowly moved into the main living room. _She must love Christmas, or at least just decorating for Christmas_, Chell thought to herself as she looked around. The fireplace crackled with fresh firewood likely placed in within the past half hour, traditional Christmas carols echoed through the room from the expensive-looking sound system, and the crowded-with-ornaments Blue Spruce tree in the corner glittered from the lights strung around every branch.

Other people, about a dozen, hung around the furniture of the room, particularly around one table opposite the tree. Quietly, she proceeded over to get a better look. Somehow, she wasn't surprised: alcohol. Bottles of the stuff covered half of the small wooden table, while the rest of said table housed a small tub of ice and plenty of glasses.

Chell never had alcohol before. She never stumbled across any during her time imprisoned, and she doubted she would have drank any of it anyway, since she'd heard it slows a person's reaction time—one of the few things she had going for her during those tests. While contemplating whether she should have a taste or not, a voice called her name—

"Chell! You made it!" Came the far-too-cheery voice of her coworker Dave. "Want something to drink? I used to bartend before I finished college. She's got a pretty good selection here… Jack Daniels, Jose Cuervo, Captain Morgan, Grey Goose, and _plenty_ of mixers. What do ya want?" He asked with a smile. While she thought Dave was nice, she consistently had the impression he was more interested in the dating possibilities with her.

"Well, I haven't had any alcohol before—" Chell began before Dave cut her off again.

"Really? You're… not joking, are you?" Dave incredulously replied, taking note of Chell's stern expression. "Well, don't worry! Dave here will take care of you!" He replied with a wink. He turned back around before he noticed the extreme irritation displayed on her face. "Hmm… first time drinker, so maybe something sweet that masks some of the alcohol taste perhaps…" He thought out loud. Just moments later, he turned back to face her, seemingly with the answer. "How about a Screwdriver?"

Chell's immediate response was a quirk of her left eyebrow.

"Now, don't worry, it's a pretty simple drink: orange juice and vodka. See, just watch." Chell observed as he grabbed a tumbler glass, filling half of it with ice cubes. Setting it on the table briefly, he picked up the Grey Goose, just pouring in enough to cover the bottom half of the ice cubes. Satisfied, he topped off the glass with the orange juice before handing off the glass to Chell.

Her first response was to attempt smelling it, trying to figure out exactly what she was getting herself into. The orange juice didn't bring forth any noticeable odor (but since when did it ever?), but something else did. _It must be the vodka,_ Chell thought. After taking another whiff of the drink, she determined she still couldn't place the scent and opted to take a sip instead. The citrus flavor from the juice sailed over her taste buds, but she barely tasted the alcohol. The juice obviously had some sort of underlying edge to its taste, but nothing she ever would consider excessive. The concoction brought a small smile to her face as she took another sip.

"Ah, so you like it, huh?" Dave began with a shiny, white smile. "Vodka's typically made with fermented grains or starches, such as wheat or potatoes. Hard to believe it goes well mixed with fruit juices, right?"

Chell's mouth gaped at the comment. Wheat or potatoes? While Dave misinterpreted her reaction as pure disbelief, her mind momentarily drifted elsewhere, to a time and place she'd spent so much time trying to erase from her troubled, weary mind… could the alcohol help her erase those memories?

She proceeded to drink the Screwdriver he'd carefully prepared for her—very quickly. "Oh wow, Chell… thirsty, aren't you?" He responded, his eyebrows raised in surprise. "Did you like it? Would you want—" He didn't even get the chance to finish his question, since she vigorously nodded her head. "Um… sure, just try not to have too many of these things, alright?"

One hour and five Screwdrivers later, Chell was drunk. Her vision swam as she tried to move, just to get her jacket. She stumbled twice over her feet as she pulled the blue winter jacket over her body and tried to walk outside into the bitter Michigan weather. Dave tried to stop her, to get her back inside toward the fireplace, since he felt responsible for her current state, but she dashed outside anyway.

Even in her intoxicated state, she remained coherent enough to make out her surroundings. The house had a wooden deck with nothing on it but mounds of snow, and a field of snow edged by pine trees surrounded the property. The clear sky loomed overhead, the twinkling stars unhindered by any clouds or artificial light from a city.

Seemingly right above her head, the moon shone with all of its glory.

She sighed. The pale-colored reflected light created a full circular surface right before her eyes. Beautiful and mesmerizing, it caused carefully-hidden memories from her time at Aperture to come rushing to the forefront of her mind.

"_I AM NOT A MORON!" Wheatley yelled, trying to dispel any biting comments GLaDOS told him from her potato prison, crashing the claw into the escape elevator, with her inside._

"_Yes you are! _You're_ the moron they built to make me an _idiot!_"_

"_Also, I took the liberty of watching the tapes of you killing Her, and I'm not gonna make the same mistakes. Four-part plan is this: one - no portal surfaces, two – start the neurotoxin immediately, three – bomb-proof shields for me, and four – bombs for throwing at you."_

"_All Aperture Science technologies remain operational up to four thousand degrees Kelvin…"_

"_Do you have any idea how good this feels? _I _did this. Tiny little Wheatley did this."_

"_Well, you found me. Was it worth it? Because of your _violent_ behavior, the only thing you've managed to do is break my heart."_

"_GRABMEGRABMEGRABMEGRABME!" Wheatley yelled in vain, as Chell watched him fly out into the endless sea of stars, as a metallic claw grabbed her from the placed portal…_

An unwilling tear fell from Chell's right eye at the recently dredged up memory. The moon really was beautiful from here on Earth, but how did it look if you were closer? Could she ever get a closer view?

And on the subject of the moon, who came up with that ridiculous term "blue moon?" She saw the celestial body right now, and no one could honestly call that color _blue_. A "blue" moon even came earlier in the year, and no part of it looked special. It didn't change colors or anything spectacular.

What exactly did Wheatley see up there? Thinking about her long-lost companion floating in space, she contemplated what he might be able to view through his cracked cerulean optic.

The stars have to be far prettier than what anything on Earth can see. No pollution, no hindering clouds, nothing but glitter splashed across the black velvet backdrop. The moon really has to be gorgeous as well. Large, much larger than it looks, reflecting the sun's rays into all directions, creating a pale glow comparable to how societies traditionally viewed heaven. The craters splattered across providing a testament to its survivability and vulnerability simultaneously, characteristic scars to an otherwise smooth surface.

What would the Earth look like to him? She imagined a small sphere, water blue and grass green, coated with swirls of white as the clouds moved across the planet, a stark contrast to the black background which coats the rest of your vision. Suddenly, a thought hit her: he was a computer, could they see things in the same way? Just because he's programmed to see, feel, and interact with others and his environment, doesn't mean he sees the same things she does.

Chell sighed. It doesn't even matter. He's gone. She remains on Earth, alone. While she has a few people who can be called friends, and guys who are interested in her romantically, she consistently remains apathetic concerning all of it. Even Dave, the handsome man still inside the house, while very nice, could never compare. She couldn't share her memories with him, explain her past, or discuss anything that happened to her. She couldn't have a true relationship with someone she couldn't even _talk_ to.

Wheatley remained in space. Her only friend, the only thing that ever cared about whether she was alive or not, stranded by a moon who was seemingly named from him. He stayed there, probably caught in the Blue Moon's orbit.

_I'm all alone, _she thought. _I'm all alone, and I need you now, Wheatley._

_Did I ever cross your mind?_


	2. Exile Vilify

Does it Trouble You the Way You Trouble Me?

Part 2: Exile Vilify

Summary: Wheatley, spinning in the outer reaches of space, wonders if Chell thinks of him. Minor Chelley.

AN: Here's part 2! Once I thought about what I wanted, this didn't take me long at all. Very inspired, I was :) Thanks to the reviewers of the previous chapter: Ace of Fours, DP-shrine-in-closet-girl, and Kawaii Usagi Chan San! And in advance, thank you to everyone who reviews/favorites/reads this story! This chapter's quick release wouldn't have been possible without the extra inspiration!

Next thing to be posted should be "Ten Years," (Multichapter Human!Wheatley, Chelley fic) and expect the first chapter within the next week or so. Unless I change my mind. Watch for it :) Enjoy this chapter, and let me know how it went!

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><p>Here he was, nearly alone. Spinning around the moon in some form of a satellite orbit, Wheatley and the Space Core remained in an abandoned state in that <em>ridiculous<em> core's favorite place in the world: anywhere other than Earth. His internal clock told him they'd been there for two years, three months, twenty-three days, six hours, twenty-one minutes, fifteen seconds… sixteen… seventeen… and counting. Who's really keeping track anymore? Time doesn't matter out here.

Away from Aperture, his home for centuries, away from Earth, even… away from the only person he cared about.

Sent here for trying to _kill_ her.

_-Exile-_

"Space. Space-space. Space-space-space SPAAACE! Have to see all of it! Need to see all of it! Space!" Yelled that absolutely _moronic_ core again.

"Ugh. Bloody hell, man—You've already seen all of space. Doubt there's much more to see. So, how about you take a moment and power down and stop talking, since no one's really listening to you. How's that sound?"

"It's _space_, Wheaty! Space! Space-space—"

It took Wheatley only fifteen seconds to realize something went wrong.

"Eh? You alright, mate?" He spun his cracked eye around, looking for his fellow core that had been orbiting around him, yelling at his highest possible decibel level for those two long years. After a few seconds, he spotted the previously hyperactive sphere, powered off. Sparks came from the dented, discolored and cracked hull, the orange optic almost completely dead. When did that happen?

Oh yeah, it probably happened those twenty seconds prior.

Some emotion passed through his circuits. Sadness? That probably made sense, since his only "companion" for the past two-plus years powered down. Possibly permanently. Something else existed, though… something he had to think about more, something he'd felt the entire time, but stronger now: longing.

_-It takes your mind again-_

Wh-what was that? That-that wasn't just in his mind, was it? He turned back to the Space Core, noticing it still remained powered off. What did he just hear?

Some kind of memory?

_-You've got sucker's luck-_

Images began to flash across his mind.

…_Chell?_

He saw her just after she woke from the three-hundred year stasis she'd been under. White Aperture tanktop, with the orange jumpsuit jacket tied around her waist, the wavy, lightly tangled hair framing her face, the remainder pulled back in the remnants of a ponytail. A look of confusion painted her face; such was common when test subjects first woke up, he'd encountered it with each of the previous men and women he'd tried to help. The next image was similar, but the expression changed drastically. Straight, closed mouth, eyebrows angled downward, looking right at him: pure, unfiltered determination.

But… where is this voice coming from?

_-Have you given up?-_

Er… what? Is this some sort of internal conscience? What is this voice, this soothing voice playing internally, and how does it know exactly what he's thinking?

Suddenly, a different image came forward. He didn't remember this one, so where did it come from?

He saw a man. His dark hair glistened in the artificial light, his grey eyes appeared nearly white when contrasting the dark pupils and dark hair around his face, the beginnings of a small beard forming and framing his pale expression. He smiled in his direction. A white Aperture labcoat draped down his lean form. _A Scientist,_ Wheatley thought. Unlike the other scientists, this one looked _directly_ at him, treating him like the human he always desired to be.

Some music played in the background, he remembered. Piano, calming, soothing, piano, with some voice. The deep voice sounded much deeper than his own—likely American, with such a strange accent—with some down-to-earth tone to it.

He_ knew_ this song. Those lyrics… they were the same ones echoing in his mind. That scientist… he listened to the song each day while working on him, back before Aperture fell into disrepair. Before She died the first time, before he destroyed the place trying to… kill… her…

_-Does it feel like a trial?-_

Hold on just a moment. Human. Why _had_ he always wanted to be human?

The bipedal organic beings always intrigued him. Ever since the moment he woke up in the Aperture Artificial Intelligence Laboratory, humans could always do things he cannot. Walk without limitations (that bloody Management Rail didn't have the capacity to take him anywhere he wanted), eat (he'd overheard the scientists and test subjects over the years discuss this food stuff, wasn't it normal inquire about things you've never encountered?) and touch anything and everything (how exactly did carpeting or a human's hair feel?).

He thought of what he might look like as a human. Shorter blonde hair, cerulean eyes to match his core, pale skin (maybe some freckles), but tall. Wearing a white labcoat, just like the scientist who'd been nice to him centuries before. He wanted to look impressive, tall enough to wrap his arms around Chell's smaller body, run his hands through her hair, keep her safe—

_Ugh. Great way to make yourself feel even worse, Wheatley. Maybe you're really acting like a… moron…_

He'd been created as a machine, and always had been. Machines can't walk (_um… unless they're designed to_, Wheatley thought, remembering the Cooperative Initiative Robots), they can't eat (_wouldn't that just cause my internal components to rust?_), they can't feel the reassuring touch of another, feel their skin, their hair, their lips…

_-Does it trouble your mind the way you trouble mine?-_

His contemplative thoughts immediately returned to Chell. Did she ever think of him, stranded orbiting the moon? Would she ever know how her presence influenced every single moment he remained conscious?

Two years, three months, twenty-three days, six hours, twenty-five minutes, forty-nine seconds… and he still couldn't delete her from his mind. How was he even supposed to apologize for his mistakes, to tell her he didn't want to spend another millisecond away from her?

He sighed. An eternity in sleep mode would be easier than _this._ At least he wouldn't deal with his regrets, his desires, his hopes and dreams…

The last thing he saw before turning his sensors off was Earth, all of its glorious hills, trees and oceans…

…and Chell's smile.

_-Vilify, Don't even try-_


End file.
